Sons of Horn Hill
by Keymasten
Summary: Samwell Tarly could have been sent to the Wall, a weak bookworm hated by his father. That fate is gone, with an older brother filling the position of heir, will Harlon and Sam bring glory to the house of the red archer? Are the Seven Kingdoms ready to face the Sons of Horn Hill?


CHAPTER 1

THWAK

"Aaah!" A wooden sword clatters to the ground. It's pudgy wielder, a boy of 9 or so years, leans down to retrieve it but is halted by a rough voice. "Samwell! That was pathetic, how many times must I tell you to stand fast and use a strong grip! By the Gods you're useless." Samwell Tarly, second son of Lord Randyll Tarly stood there with his head bowed. This was not an uncommon sight in Horn Hill. Everyone in the castle knew that Lord Tarly favored his first born as many lords do but his utter lack of love for his second son caused some gossip. It wasn't that the boy was incompetent, he simply had no skill in anything martial. Samwell Tarly preferred to spend his time in the library or talking with Maester Clowen.

From the other side of the yard, a clatter was heard as someone in padded armour was thrown to the ground, followed by a cry of "I yield!" The sword at his throat was retracted, another young boy who shared much of his looks with Lord Tarly stood above him. Already tall for his age of ten years he looks down at his sparring partner. "Next time, watch what you say about my brother where I can hear it." Turning abruptly, he walked off toward his lord father and brother. One of the guardsmen watching from outside the ring leaned to his friend, "Always got to watch that you don't insult young Sam around Harlon. It doesn't matter who you are, he'll bruise you."

"Harlon! Come here my son." "Yes father?" "Show your brother how a man of Tarly blood wields a blade." "Very well." Sam picked up his sword and turned to face his older brother. He began to ready himself but stopped when he noticed his brother had gone over to the weapon racks and was inspecting a mace and a war axe. With an appraising eye Harlon returned to the center and handed over the axe. "Try this instead Sam, I can't see you ever being some kind of bravossi water dancer." The jape seemed to help ease the tension in Sam's shoulders, he glanced to his father but saw no sign he would comment and switched weapons. Sam immediately liked his axe better. With the sword he could never really tell how to strike or where. It was a weapon for fluid and precise strikes and Sam was always somewhat clumsy. The axe though, it had a weight to it. It seemed though, Lord Tarly had grown impatient, he barked at his sons, "Get on with it you two!"

All Sam could do was square his feet and heft his axe before his brother was upon him using simple overhand cuts and side slashes. Nowhere near as fast as his brother was truly capable of but by no means was Harlon trying to be merciful. Harlon took a half step back for a breather, Sam decided to strike with a hesitant strike for his brother's left shoulder. As he hefts the axe up and brings it down he knew his brother would block but still put as much of his strength behind the attempt as he could. He was shocked when Harlon's knees bend a bit as there blades bounced off each other. Excited, Sam turns the deflection into a back strike to the leg that bent, he let out a laugh when as he met his brother's eyes. "Well done Sam, a hit. Now…" Harlon's eyes narrowed "Let's get a bit more serious eh?"

…

Sam winced as the Maester applied a salve to his shoulder. His brother was sitting across the table from him sporting a bruised thigh. For some reason Sam couldn't help but smile thinking back to the bout. He still lost in the end, Harlon managed to trip him and make him lose his axe in the mud. As he lay there in the dirt he looked up and expected to meet his father's disappointed gaze like usual, instead he saw his lord father nodding with what looked like pride. "Come on Sam, I want to head to the library!" At the mention of books, Sam quickly donned his shirt and the two boys scampered into the halls of Horn Hill.

The Tarly library was once the most neglected room in the ancestral home. Until Sam and Harlon discovered it while following the Maester after their lessons once. If Lord Tarly ever needed to fetch his sons they could be found either out in the yard or in the library. It's why he was not surprised when he found his sons there burning candlelight. He took a moment to simply observe his boys. Ten years ago he first heard the cries of his son. A loud and healthy boy who he named Harlon in honor of the founder of his house, Harlon the Hunter. Harlon had so far lived up to his namesake. A strong boy, quick-witted and he took to the blade and bow like a fish to water. He was exactly what Randyll had always wanted as an heir. Then Samwell came, Randyll would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed by the timid and rather weak second son. He dreamed of his sons being Harlon the Hunter and Samwell the Savage reborn, one day leading the armies of the Reach. Instead of a soldier he got a reader. A young lad who preferred the company of manuals and Maesters to arms and armour. The boy was even starting to gain an embarrassing amount of weight. Yet even with such different interests his boys were as thick as thieves. Always together, even now, pouring over some tome with reverence and interest.

"Father!" Two young voices shook him from his introspection, before he could reprimand them for coming to the library unaccompanied he stopped himself. Sam is looking up at him not with fear or nervousness but… admiration and curiosity. He noticed Harlon nudge his brother and whisper to him. "Go on, ask him". Sam takes a breath and steels himself. "Father, did you really defeat King Robert at the battle of Ashford?" Randyll approached their table and looked at what title they could have possibly been reading that led to that strange question. He almost gasped in surprise when we noticed it was the copy of Robert's Rebellion: The Rise of the first Baratheon King, Maester Lylo had acquired the book from the Citadel. What was so surprising was this was an analytical book about the rebellion; not some story book. "What was your question Samwell?"

Sam cast his eyes back to the book, reopening it to a marked page. "It says that you and Lord Tyrell commanded the forces at the Battle of Ashford and dealt King Robert his only true defeat" Randyll bristled at that statement, to think it was now written that his fat oaf of a liege lord helped him command when he wasn't even th- "But Lord Tyrell was with the rest of the army who must have been marching a ways behind you, the way you deployed the vanguard wouldn't make sense if you had the rest of the army supporting you." When Sam looked back up his father was looking at him with a baffled expression. "Samwell what do you mean, how I deployed the Van?" "You split the Van and kited them northward along the water, if you had the rest of the army you could have flanked them with your cavalry or the archers from a safe distance; instead you had to put them into the melee with your foot."

Again, Sam's observation was met with Randyll being stunned silent. Thankfully Harlon unknowingly broke the tension. "Yes father, Sam is really smart when it comes to battles and such, we found a copy of The Blackfyre Rebellions a couple of months ago and we've been reading about the battles and talking about what we would have done differently!" Randyll turned to Samwell, "Is this true Samwell? Do you enjoy reading about these battles?" Seemingly embarrassed, Sam responded "Yes, Father, I like trying to figure out why someone lost or how I could have won, it's like a game." Randyll's immediate retort would have been a stern sneer about thinking of war as a "game". He stopped himself, looking at his sons as they went back to discussing how the Targaryen Loyalists could have won at the Stony Sept. Harlon was a strong warrior and one day would be a charismatic leader but he was unfortunately not the most creative student Maester Lylon had ever had. Seeing Samwell so excited while he explained to his brother the difference between a vanguard and a flank brought a small smile to his face. He would have think more on this. "Well that can wait boys, it's time for sup and your mother is waiting."

That evening, he spent almost the entire meal discussing his experience fighting in the rebellion, Harlon would ask about his duel with Lord Cafferen while Sam inquired about how difficult it was to marshal so many troops together. Randyll Tarly went to bed content and happy, he shared this sentiment with wife. It was obviously just a coincidence that nine months later his daughter Gellwyn was born. The future was bright for the house of the red archer.

Three years had passed since the night in the library and slowly the grimness in Horn Hill had changed. Lord Tarly had taken to given both his sons personal instruction in many different matters. He could be found sparring and correcting Harlon's swordplay or discussing history and strategy with Samwell. The births of his second daughter, Gwyn and third son, Devan were sources of happiness for the people of Horn Hill.

Now though at the age of ten and three and ten and two respectively, it was time to consider fostering his sons with other lords. It would give them valuable experience, especially for Harlon; the chance to form bonds with other lords in the reach and hopefully earn their respect or friendship. To discuss this he had called his sons and Measter Lylon into his study. "Harlon, you and I will be riding to Highgarden in two weeks. Once there you will be fostered with the Tyrells and squire for Ser Garlan." Harlon and Sam both seemed upset at this but a simple look between them and Harlon took a deep breath and responded. "I understand, father, I'll do my best to make you proud." Harlon glanced nervously at his brother. "Can I ask where Sam is going?" "That is where I was hoping you three could advise me. Samwell has no desire to be a knight and I do not want him to be a maester. The Reach as we all know is a place of pride and fame but there is no one to truly foster his interest in knowledge and strategy. As well Samwell, I'd like you to go somewhere your interest in different forms of combat can be realised."

The men sat there in silence, contemplating, only the crackle of the hearth to fill the void. Lylon was the first to speak his mind. "Perhaps somewhere in the Stormlands, they have the best foot soldiers in the seven kingdoms." Sam, settling into his new found confidence, suggested the Vale. It was Harlon who made the most convincing argument. "The Vale and the Stormlands both fought against us in the rebellion. Never mind the fact that the Tyrell's sieged Storm's End for nearly a year. It leaves us with the Westerlands, Riverlands and the North." "What of Dorne?" Asked Maester Lylon. "Dorne holds lessons of attrition and subtlety but not true marches and sieges, it is not their way." Answered Randyll. "Father, didn't you meet some northern lords at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion?"

Randyll took a moment to consider his last meeting with lords from north of The Neck. It had been as the victors convened on Pyke to witness Balon Greyjoy bend the knee to King Robert. Randyll had been in charge of the footsoldiers carried by the Redwyn fleet that attacked Blacktyde. While feasting that night he had been called over by a huge man who turned out to be Lord Greatjon Umber. He sat with GreatJon, Jeor Mormont, Wyllam Manderly and even had the chance to speak to Lord Eddard Stark himself. He was weary at first, what possible purpose could these lords have with him? Grievances, threats? The first question he was asked came from Jeor Mormont an aged veteran known respectfully as "The Old Bear".

"Tell me Lord Tarly, you strike me as a man of war, at home on the battlefield. More than that you have the look of a commander. Unlike some of the other Reach Lords, men with gazes as soft as greenboys. Tell me this Lord Tarly. What good do all those tourneys and festivals do for the people of The Reach, other than waste coin and food on weak men who care more about their fame than their responsibilities?" The whole table went silent, then as one, all eyes turned to Randyll. Who calmly took a sip from his goblet. "Absolutely fucking nothing." The entire hall had gone silent. Then the Old Bear started laughing so hard he went red in the face. "Aye, I'll drink to that" and they toasted.

The rest of the evening was most likely the fondest Lord Tarly had in many years. Discussions of battles and fallen brothers, adventures and scars, no pompous speaking of clothes and tourneys. He found a place at this table of harsh men from an even harsher land. Lords who had no time for fake pleasantry and inflated ceremony.

Shaking himself from old memories, he returned his attention to his sons. "That idea has merit Harlon. I will write to Lord Stark and see if he has any suggestions. Now how do you boy plan to spend your last weeks here?" His boys both begin to grin. "We were hoping you'd be willing to take us on a hunt father. A proper hunt out in the Red Woods." Randyll simply raised a greying eyebrow. "Why would you want to do that? Neither of you have ever had a passion for hunting before." It was Sam who spoke up in response. "We found a book about Garth Greenhand!" "Sam!" "Sorry but we agreed to show him when we were done with it" Their father's bark of "Boys!" ended their argument immediately. "What book?" "We were looking through some of the Tarly journals when Sam dropped his candle underneath the bookcase, when we looked under it we found there were a couple of books that seemingly fell behind it. They were very old. Sam and I have been copying what we can." "And you didn't bring this to my attention?" "We're sorry Maester Lylon, we wanted it to be a surprise for you and father" "It's alright boys, now tell me about this book" "Well as far as we can tell it's a book written by a Tyrell from back when Garth Greenhand was king. This Tyrell was a personal guard for the Greenhand and accompanied him almost everywhere. Then when his sons Harlon and Herndon were born he became the princes' sworn shield. The book talks about how when they were both three and ten their father took them on a hunt in the Red Wood. He says that it was in the forest that they underwent… what was it Sam?" "They underwent something called the Green Rite. We don't know what it is or how to do it. So instead we want to hunt in the Red Wood. Like our ancestors." Randyll stood and chuckled at his sons' obvious excitement. "Fetch the book, the Maester and I will give it a look and then I'll make my decision" The boys jumped up and hugged their father, nearly knocking him over in the process. Neither of them were runts and both had gained muscle and strength from training. As they rushed out of his study, he shared a fond chuckle with Maester Lyon. "What will those boys do next?"


End file.
